


Unbecoming (The Black Room)

by Ballyharnon



Series: Madhouse Lovenest [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ballyharnon/pseuds/Ballyharnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped at the townhouse in Grimmauld Place, Remus and Sirius smoke and drink and fight and fuck and talk about just what the hell they think they’re doing together anyhow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbecoming (The Black Room)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This contains dominance play or something sort of like it, consensual violence both physical and magical, suicidal ideation, and something that might look like dubcon or even noncon at first, though I've tried to make it clear that it is not. There is talk of the possibility of Remus/Tonks, as well as some interaction between them.

Sirius sat over the remains of his supper in the gloom of the old kitchen. He spent more time here now than in any other room of his family's hideous old London townhouse. It was grand for a kitchen, he supposed (though he honestly hadn't seen many kitchens in his life), but it was a simple, utilitarian place, with black-tiled floors and dark furnishings. It was the barest and least-familiar room in the house apart from the cellar, where he also spent a great deal of time now.

With slow, deliberate motion he drew a packet of cigarettes from a pocket and slipped one out. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before he lit it against the rune tattooed on his knuckle. The fire in the stove crackled merrily, and there was a chill in the air. 

It was true autumn now, and Remus had been away for several days. They had no houseguests now that the children were at school, but Sirius had had intermittent company in some of the ladies of the Order, who came round in groups of two or three with covered dishes, or to take turns bustling efficiently about the place tidying. His young cousin often seemed to have charge of this feminine brigade, and something about the whole situation boded ill to Sirius.

He tended to follow them about, flirting indiscriminately with them and swiftly, deliberately undoing any progress they made in cleaning until they departed.

He sucked contemplatively at his cigarette. The feel of it was so lovely and sensual, another of those little pleasures he had almost forgot. He would run short of them if Remus didn't return soon with more. He smiled to himself and tipped his chair back on two legs, off-hand settling idly over his flies as he savoured the simple pleasure of smoking in his own kitchen as the master of his own house, twisted as circumstance may have made it. 

He was the last of his line, and he would tear the whole bloody thing down with him when he went, but for now, he had wrested his house and his name from the enemy, by simple dint of having been the toughest of them. 

Black satisfaction.

It was silent, aside from the fire and his own occasional smoky exhalation, and Sirius could hear the eerie small noises of the house: the ticking of the clock in the front hall, Kreacher snoring softly in his cupboard, locked in for the night--and the sudden grate of a big key in the old lock of the front door. His grin turned happier as the softest of footfalls moved into the hall and towards the kitchen. Remus could always slip past the Lady Black without waking her.

His face fell and he dropped his chair forward again, though, when he heard the sudden thunk of big, loud boots and the clatter of the vase nearly toppling off the demilune as a plump little heart-shaped arse nudged gracelessly into the table.

"Balls! Sorry!" she hissed, even as Walburga's portrait grumbled in her sleep, threatening to wake. Remus must have held a quelling hand up at the girl then; all was silent for a long moment, and Sirius frowned darkly to himself.

There was a shuffling, and he heard the girl murmur something, too low to make out. He heard Remus clear his throat and utter a single bland word, and then he heard his cousin reply, "See you later, then," somewhat dejectedly. Sirius heard the door shut behind her, and perhaps three full minutes passed before Remus moved, before he stepped softly through into the low orangey firelight that warmed the black kitchen.

"Wotcher, Remus?" Sirius chirped as his friend entered--a wicked imitation. Remus startled impressively.

Sirius might--just _might_ \--have had a tiny touch of the metamorphmagus gift, in the right light, every once in a great while, if he happened to be feeling particularly mischievous. It was passed in the Black line, after all. But if he did have it he certainly would never have considered keeping it his closest secret for his whole life just so that he could occasionally pull off something hilarious and then plausibly deny it. Not at all.

Never.

It was just a trick of the light.

"Don't scare me like that," the werewolf sighed. Then, "Is that still hot?" He indicated the half-eaten thick slices of roast which Sirius had pushed away from himself, but he didn't wait for a reply before he lifted the plate and began to eat, still standing, with his fingers.

"No," Sirius told him unnecessarily, once he'd sunk his teeth into it. He dropped his dog-end into his empty glass.

Remus gave him a mildly murderous look around a bite of beef. "'M starved," he mumbled.

Sirius wanted to snap that he was starved as well, but he just frowned into the grate of the stove. "Where did you go this time?"

"Back to Dovetown," Remus answered, swallowing hastily.

"I didn't know _she_ was going along."

There was a long pause. Remus shrugged and said, carefully offhand, "Albus has always preferred we work in pairs."

Sirius shrugged now, fiddled with the packet of cigarettes before him on the table. "Not always."

"He would have let us work together if he had known..." Remus asserted, but he was prevaricating--the secrecy of their affair was far from the only reason they had had to keep things hidden from each other in those days. He took another bite so that he could stop speaking.

"Why won't he let us work together _now_ , then?" Sirius asked, voice strident.

"You know why," the werewolf mumbled, mouth still full and utterly unable to bring himself to care for table manners while they were alone. Sirius just leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest and his jaw set determinedly. His glare was mutinous.

"What's the use in staying _safe_ for _this_?" he hissed, with an emphatic gesture that took in everything: the half-rotted house, the cold meat, even Remus and the awkward scene in the front hall. 

"Winter hols are coming right up, you'll see Harry again before you know it."

Sirius frowned, but he pursed his lips in that way that meant he could admit he hadn't considered an angle.

"And we can invite the Weasleys, have the whole gang 'round," Remus tried, but Sirius ignored him and redoubled his protest.

"Look, Moony, I get funeral rations from the garden club and bars on the windows and you're off cavorting with my cousin!" He stopped himself for a moment, genuinely much angrier than he had been. "Why'd you pick _her_ for a substitute partner? Does she _duel_ like I do?"

Remus sighed and swallowed the last scrap of his secondhand supper, then stood, calmly crossed the room and added the plate they had shared to the sad pile of dishes in the scullery sink. He returned, faced Sirius again and stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, regarding him as if he were an unruly student, or an undisciplined dog. (Neither description was really inaccurate.)

"This is a problem," he said at last, and then he cleared his throat and continued casually, "Get on your knees." He ignored the slight hint of a smile that twitched at the corner of Sirius' mouth as he moved to comply. "I thought we had come to an arrangement," Remus said, meditatively, almost to himself. "I distinctly remember that we had agreed to trust one another."

Sirius, on his knees, drew in a shivery breath, his stomach full of butterflies that had nothing to do with the liquor. "My memory needs refreshing," he grumbled, eyes cast down.

It came so naturally. Neither of them could quite remember now how it had started, or whose idea it had first been. There had been fistfights over nothing that had ended in bloody kisses, wrists tied to bedposts with conjured cords when they were barely more than boys, a dog-collar, long-lost now, with slim fingers wrapped tight around the leather so that Remus' sharp knuckles dug rhythmically into his throat--

It had always been there, just under the surface, like their animal skins.

As young men, they had discovered and invented rules which served them well, and for a time everything had seemed perfect. It had always been comforting to Sirius to playact so sweet a loss of control (these desires were nothing to do with what he'd been through, he usually believed), and it appealed to that dominant and predatory part of Remus which was always kept under strict and almost mincing restraint, except with his friend, who he knew could usually handle it.

But there was that damned war again. This game was one of the many things they had lost in the months before Sirius' imprisonment, for they had lost the requisite trust. Now, though, Sirius was eager to demonstrate that he would no longer doubt his friend and lover--when he was feeling right. When he wasn't feeling right, he was eager for everything and didn't trust anyone, and he couldn't figure out what he really wanted, or how to get it from Remus, so he railed and pushed, sometimes too far.

Remus could already tell what sort of night it would be. "Your memory," he said coolly, "is fine. It's your stubborn backside that needs attention."

Sirius murmured the other man's name--his real name--surprising them both with the neediness of his tone.

"Quiet," the werewolf admonished softly, stepping closer. His name, said like that, it cut him to the quick. Sirius leaned forward to nuzzle at the soft material of his trousers. He kept his hands at his sides, as docile as he could manage, as Remus' long fingers carded sweetly through his hair. "This jealousy is utterly unbecoming." He wanted to assure Sirius that he would never allow himself to have the girl, that whatever shocking horrible realisation may have come over him recently was irrelevant to their situation.

Sirius nodded his agreement into the place where Remus' thigh joined his hip. He felt the soft nap of the suiting move in sympathy with his lover's arousal. "You're all I have," he admitted, voice quiet and barely-resentful.

Remus tugged sharply at his friend's hair. "That isn't true."

He nodded again. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that."

"Tell me what you want me to do, Moony," he grated, a crack in his voice, and Remus steeled himself.

"Open your shirt," Remus murmured, and then Sirius was undoing buttons and sliding the cloth away from his skin. A pause to unfasten his watch chain, with its fat pearl ornament that Sirius said signified the moon (and a perverse bastard he was to wear such a reminder). He tucked it safely into his waistcoat pocket, and then his chest and his taut abdomen were exposed. His pale skin with its bruises and dark ink made a wicked counterpoint to the fine clothing--it was an arresting combination to a repressed werewolf. Remus stared hungrily, took a long moment to be selfish.

Sirius' hands settled at his sides and he regarded his lover with earnest eyes as he awaited his next instructions. 

"Suck me," Remus rumbled, and the words weren't even out of his mouth before Sirius was fumbling to open his flies. He surged forward and swallowed him half-soft, and Remus sighed, "You're so pretty like that," with a touch of regret. For long, slow moments Sirius lapped and sucked at him. He felt himself swell fully, groaned aloud at the always-titillating sight of Sirius' lips around his flesh. "So good to be home..."

Sirius paused, met his eyes.

"Was the longest, _hardest_ week-end of my life," Remus continued after a time, and he could tell from the look on the other man's face that Sirius would have babbled something nonsensical and jealous--about that too-young girl or about other werewolves--if he hadn't so effectively filled his mouth. He tugged cruelly at the dark locks and gave him one particularly fierce thrust. Sirius gave a small indignant cry over this treatment, though he continued to suck enthusiastically. "And it's only Saturday night," the werewolf added with a cheeky grin.

Sirius finally pulled away, laughing, and barked, "You've lost a day, you lunatic, it's Sunday night."

"Ugh," the werewolf remarked wearily. "That means it's four days since I showered."

Sirius pulled a face, and the two shared a brief look of amusement before Remus nodded briskly and said, "That's more like it." 

Sirius' face went solemn then. Remus stared at his mouth, open and wet, as he collected himself for the next round of the game. Sirius was cheered somewhat, but it was clear he would fall back into his melancholy if he wasn't handled properly tonight. "Moony, I need you to--"

"I haven't the energy tonight," he interrupted, voice flat. He gave Sirius' hair another sharp tug. "My rules."

Sirius nodded eagerly. He wanted something rougher, but he was happy to submit this way, of course, happy to submit any way at all to Remus, and so disconnected from himself that he might have thought it would be enough, even in the state he was in. 

"Up you get," Remus ordered. Sirius rose in a fluid motion, quick and eager, and Remus slid his hands up the greyhound ribs, dragged the pads of his fingers over the small, taut nipples. Sirius hummed his appreciation, eyes closed.

Remus turned him round bodily then, pushed him down onto the table so that he was bent over it, and held him by the nape of his neck. He stepped closer, leaned down to fit himself against the curve of Sirius' still-clothed backside.

"Moony," he murmured again. The werewolf pushed against him, slow and hard, mimicking the motion of sex for long moments. Sirius was pinned to the table and pushed a little off-balance by the force of Remus' movements, and he struggled a little, though he didn't really want to break free. Wiry fingers clutched at his hips, at his arms, and there was a smoky sort of rumble in Remus' breath, a werewolf sound so stuck in Sirius' crop that he doubted a dance would feel like a dance without that music.

The motion carried on for a thick and muzzy eternity. Sirius' feet soon slipped out from under him on the black tiles, and he sagged passive and dead-eyed over the table, occasionally scrabbling for purchase or writhing back against the other man.

Finally, Remus straightened a little, hauled Sirius backwards by his belt as he stood. He still had the other man pinned with his thighs, bent even more awkwardly over the table now and humming softly with pleasure. He grasped Sirius' shirttails and shoved at the material to reveal his taut back, took himself in his other hand and stroked, fast, leaning his forehead into the soft black curls and sucking in a breath to hold against the too-canine sounds he made.

Sirius felt his lover's come pulse hot onto his back, and his breath left him in a low, slow whine, undisguisedly needy. The unyielding wooden table dug into his hip and he was short of breath; his own erection was pressed uncomfortably against his thigh. He felt Remus move away, was dimly aware of the small noises he made in doing up his flies, and Sirius choked off a questioning whimper as he got his feet back under himself.

Remus sat down. Stared.

Sirius craned his head around. "Moony--"

"Quiet." He took out one of Sirius' expensive cigarettes and smoked, nonchalantly, for a time. He leaned his head back and toed off his shoes, sighed with soft contentment. "Shall I perk some coffee?" he asked.

"Moony." There was a warning in his tone now, and his back, still exposed and laid out on the table all slick with cooling werewolf spunk, was tense.

But Remus shook his head. "You'll wait, Sirius."

Something broke loose in him at that. In one quick moment his whole posture changed: he took his body out of their game. He stood smoothly, dropping all pretence of submission. His expression was grim, almost a snarl. It gave Remus a sudden hot thrill, if he were honest, to be reminded that none of this would happen if Sirius didn't allow it-- _want_ it. His friend may have been a dog at heart, but they were always on equal footing with one another, really, at the core of things.

Inspiring a throb and a sweet sentiment, however, was clearly not on Sirius' agenda. He shook his head at Remus, coolly uttered the phrase they had agreed upon so long ago, though it was made unnecessary by Sirius' change in attitude.

Remus nodded to indicate his recognition that the game was over for now. He put his fag out in Sirius' empty glass and rose to his feet, slow and tense, as if on wires.

Sirius just stared at him, cold and sneering, for a long and intense moment.

"What do you think you're doing, Remus?" he finally asked. When they were alone, Sirius only used his lover's given name in moments of grave import, having never quite got over the childish fancy of their old school nicknames, and it always felt like a lance. "Telling me to _wait_?"

The werewolf shook his head, uncomprehending.

"What do you think this is doing to me?" He clarified, no longer so cold. He stepped forward, lashed out with a sudden ferocity at his abandoned glass--he didn't touch it, but the imperious wave of his hand sent it fast against the wall in a shower of crimson sparks, the cigarette-ends and the last few drops of liquid splattering onto the tiled floor among the shards. Sirius indicated this small wreck as if in explanation of his current state.

"I can't sit here alone all day with nothing to do and nothing to think of, Remus, it's doing my head in!" He stepped closer again, was snarling up into his lover's face, close enough to kiss now. "I had enough of that already, I don't want it from you. That's the hardest limit I have."

"I understand that, Sirius. I only--"

"You can 'understand' my Black cock!" he swore, clutching it briefly in one hand through the material of his trousers as he pushed his thigh against Remus'--the gesture was clearly aggressive rather than suggestive. When the werewolf didn't react, he hissed, "Remus, you don't _argue_ someone's limits," and gave his shoulders a quick, hard shove to get him to step back. 

The werewolf nodded, but Sirius was off like a train. "The only good you can do here is to bring me crosswords and stop by to tumble me when you've nothing else on, and frankly, Remus, I wouldn't be so hard up for either if there was _anything_ -bloody-else to do with my time!" He had turned away, was pacing now in the limited space next to the table.

Remus didn't know what to say.

"Oh, but at least you've the _courtesy_ not to drop me and run off with _my baby cousin_ , and I'm supposed to be _grateful_ to you for it?"

"I would nev--"

He whirled to face the other man, stopping stock still. "Shut up, Remus, just shut that smug, condescending, lying mouth of yours!" And it was such a shock that he did. Sirius closed the distance he had paced between them in a few quick steps. "I'm finished with this fucking mess of an affair. I can see what's happening here, why won't you _do_ it already!"

Remus heard a sudden sharp tink of shattered glass behind him, and he automatically craned his head around, realising even as he did so that it was a wineglass breaking in the cupboard. He turned back to his friend, startled. The lamps flickered; Remus heard another glass shatter with a pop, then another, as an impossible wind began in the kitchen, fluttering the tea-towels and both their hair. Like a frustrated teenager, Sirius' magic was arcing out of him uncontrolled, uncontrollable.

But he _was_ regaining the full use of it.

Remus was unsure what to do for a bare second before cold mugglebred instinct took over; he drew his whole left side back as smoothly as he could, so as not to telegraph it, and then he suckerpunched Sirius square in the mouth, hard. It stung his whole hand.

The dark-haired man reeled a few steps back as the low lights shocked steady, as the mad wind died utterly in an instant, but he gave his lover a blackly rebellious look. (There was no surprise in his eyes at all.) The corner of his lower lip had been split on his own canine-tooth by the blow, and a drop of dark blood swelled there now. He made an improper fist with his right hand, intentionally clicking the knuckle of his thumb--something he wouldn't have done if he'd _really_ intended to surprise Remus.

The werewolf clutched for his wand just in time, and then--Remus in slippery sock-feet and Sirius still half-undressed--they were duelling in earnest in the cramped kitchen.

After the first exchange of hexes, Sirius kicked wildly at the table to knock it aside, and Remus moved automatically to help him, gave it a quick magical shove from where he stood to get it completely out of the way.

They met one another's eyes, and the duel resumed.

Both men fought silently when they meant it; both men fought silently now. The only sound was their breathing and the soft hiss of their wordless spells. Sirius' hexes were hot and red, sparking off his dark wand in great ill-defined orbs that resembled ball-lightning. Remus deflected these deftly with swift slices of white light, and where their spells connected the energies sizzled, sparkling off into the air.

Distantly, Remus realised every object in the kitchen would give off painful static shocks for weeks if they didn't take the time to discharge the raw magic from the room later.

Remus held his own, but it was clear that Sirius had tapped into that fiery red core of his magic which had been so numbed and banned by the Dementors that he'd been half-squibbed when he had first escaped. That he had still been able to transform, that he had been able to take up a wand again as soon as he had--it was an indication of the true depth of his power, and of his will.

For the first time, the wild realisation that Sirius _really could_ fight again fluttered thrillingly through Remus; he might have his old partner back after all, one day soon.

He suddenly saw that Sirius was using the old forms they had practiced together years ago--of course he was, or Remus' responses wouldn't have been so smooth, so automatic. He narrowed his eyes and watched close. The room was still quiet aside from the heavy rush of air, their breathing and the spells.

He allowed Sirius' next hex to go undeflected. He dodged under it, advancing unexpectedly as it scorched the cupboard, forcing a quick recovery to _en garde_. Remus knew his friend would default to his favourite offence to regain his ground.

Then Sirius was spinning an _incendio_ in his palm to amplify it, in a moment he would advance too far with a rough balestra, and the spell seared hot across Remus' shoulder but--there! He saw Sirius' guard falter. That old occasional flaw in his footwork only showed when he was angry, or exhausted, but there it was, forcing an overbalance, a moment's hesitation. Remus disarmed him with a vicious envelopment, not sparking his rough-but-silent _expeliarmus_ until his wand spun Sirius' all the way down and his hand contacted the other man's. Sirius yelped in pain as his deceptively delicate-looking wand flipped into the air and clattered across the black tiles, where it rolled under the lip of a cupboard.

Remus surged forward almost in the same movement to grab the other man in a rough and restraining embrace, for it was certain Sirius would attack physically when deprived of his wand.

"Queen Susan!" Remus shouted then over the other man's frustrated roar: the same phrase Sirius had used earlier, his own safeword, thrown back into his face after the game was already over. "Queen Susan," he repeated when Sirius kept struggling, not as loud but still firm.

Sirius managed to shrug him off, threw his hands up in frustration. He was still enraged, but he was no longer on the attack. "Remus, I'm not _playing_ \--!"

"I understand that, Padfoot, but you must get yourself under control." He tried to keep his voice level, to lead by example. He hoped the old nickname would further soften his friend. Remus snatched up the packet of cigarettes from the table, drew one out and thrust it towards Sirius.

He took it, shaking with rage and clearly reluctant, but he lit it immediately on his knuckle. It forced him to slow his breathing; it calmed him, fire-mage that he was.

After absolutely no deliberation, Remus lit another for himself as well. (He had always been aligned to light, nearly the same thing as fire, and just as scorching in difficult times.)

He watched as Sirius with admirable dedication smoked the cigarette half-down before deigning to speak or to unwind his tense muscles from their fighting stance. He sat heavily in one of the shoved-aside chairs then, elbows on his knees and head down. His hair slid over his face like the ear of a shaggy hound.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry too, Sirius." He sounded defeated, though he'd won. "You know, I couldn't have disarmed you if you weren't so angry--so careless," Remus told him. "And if I hadn't already known your form." He had never had to disarm the other man in real combat before, but they had always been able to arc to each other's wands. Sirius shouldn't find his any less responsive now that Remus was its true master.

And Sirius had never been properly disarmed in a duel before, by Remus or anyone else--not even upon his arrest, for he'd been too grief-stricken laughing-mad to defend himself--and he felt quite unmanned now. He made no move to retrieve the wand from where it had fallen. (If they were following the pureblood etiquette to which he had been reared, he had no right to do so unless Remus invited it.)

After a time, the werewolf crossed the kitchen, found two unbroken glasses and a cut-crystal carafe of something brown--he swept some of the broken glass out onto the worktop, left the cupboard door open. Every surface he touched glittered with raw magic from their duel. Any other witch or wizard who entered the room before the energy could be discharged would be in for a number of nasty shocks, some fiery-hot and blood-red from Sirius, some clear and white like moonlight, the residue of his own magic. He returned to the crooked table, staring the other man evenly in his steel-grey eyes. 

Sirius wiped at the blood on the corner of his mouth, managing only to smear it attractively. He took the carafe and poured, a little line of white sparks flickering off the edge of the table as he laid his arm across it. Both men drank. 

At length, Sirius said, "Are we... calling it quits?"

Remus rubbed at his scruffy beard with both hands, covered his mouth for a moment with long fingers as he considered the things Sirius had said to him before they'd fought. His heart was suddenly pounding more furiously than during the duel. "If we are," he finally said, "it was you who chucked me." 

Sirius considered this. He poured again, fumbling a little, took a long drag.

They drank, together, eyes still locked.

Finally, Sirius said, "That wasn't... my intent."

"Even so." Remus pursed his lips. "Perhaps it's-- Perhaps it would be for the best."

"I didn't--" His voice was strident, though he didn't seem to know what to say. "I..."

Remus, still staring at him, took the carafe back and poured a third round. Sirius was slumped sideways in his chair now, his open shirt skewed sadly. "I cannot continue to work with Nymphadora, in any case," Remus said coolly.

Sirius finally broke their gaze-lock, sighing, and looked down into his--was it muggle whiskey? The Irish kind? (Arthur must have left it.) "If it's on my account," he said, voice dull, "I wouldn't want to stand in the way of anything--"

Remus was shaking his head. "I don't want to endanger her," he objected. He fiddled uselessly with his cigarette, passing it from one hand to the other and back again. "I couldn't allow myself to be with her under any circumstance."

"I've heard you say things like that before." Sirius sipped at his drink, left the rest unsaid. The animagus transformation, for instance--Remus couldn't have allowed that under any circumstance, either.

"I'm in love with her," he admitted finally, bland, almost cruel. "I can't be with her. That has nothing to do with you and me." The alcohol warmed him, or it seemed to, anyway; Remus felt less drained.

"I don't want to be a second choice."

Remus rather wanted to say that Sirius was his only choice, but he was certain it wouldn't come off the way he intended it to. He was, though. Nymphadora had never been, would never be an option--no fertile woman could be, because of his curse--and he wouldn't have chosen anyone else in the world but Sirius. In the end, he said, "Padfoot, she kissed me."

Sirius looked betrayed, opened his mouth to protest.

"And I sent her away," Remus concluded. "I sent her away and I came in here, to you." He sighed, not unhappily. "I'll always choose you."

There was a long silence. Sirius cast about for someplace to drop his dog-end, but he'd broken the only empty glass, so he shrugged and ground it out on the old table.

Remus huffed a small laugh and did the same, suddenly as committed as his friend to the marvellous notion of just completely wrecking up everything Sirius' family had ever touched.

"Do you _want_ to be here?" Sirius asked then, still looking down.

"I do," Remus said immediately, leaning forward to clutch at the other man's wrist where it lay on the table. Sirius pulled back automatically, wincing. "Did I hurt you?"

He had, but Sirius shook his head. "Remus... my wand--"

"Oh," the werewolf said. "Oh of course--" He summoned it with a silent _accio_ , caught it in nimble fingers and pressed it into his friend's palm. He closed Sirius' limp hand around it, clutched it tight with both his own. "It's yours," he said, and he could feel Sirius' fingers grip it then, could feel him spark it reflexively.

Sirius huffed a relieved sigh, eyes shut. 

Remus brought one hand up, slid it under the other man's hair to his nape. "Sirius, look at me." Their eyes locked again. "It's _yours_ ," he repeated.

They leaned forward, towards each other, at the same moment. They kissed. He could taste Sirius' blood from the wound his own fist had opened on the corner of his pretty mouth. (It was far too late for Sirius to avoid the venom--they'd crossed that line as boys, and that probably explained a lot.)

Remus took his other hand in his, kissed the bony fingers, the scattered ink. "Sirius, you're my brother," he said earnestly, "and my dearest friend, and I--" he laughed a little. "You know I'll always be happy to lie down with you. She doesn't matter. It, it's you I..."

Sirius grinned, perhaps ruefully, at his unwillingness to speak the words. "Say no more. I understand." Then his smile changed as he shifted in his chair; he seemed genuinely amused by something. "You know," he began.

Remus made an inquiring face.

"It's just, I don't believe I've ever fought a duel with my opponent's spunk running down my back." This he pronounced with sharp enunciation for emphasis.

They laughed together, a giddy release. "You don't _believe_ you have?"

Sirius laughed harder, then threw up a single hand in an expansive shrug. "It's not impossible. Clearly."

Remus half-rose from his chair and kissed Sirius fiercely then, to stop him thinking, to stop himself thinking. There were pitfalls here, on this rough road they shared, and only so many ways to avoid them. 

When the other man had melted completely into the contact, Remus pulled away and smacked him sharply below his pretty cheekbone, gave him the pain he had wanted earlier as his reward for being such a troublesome, irritating, loveable slag, for waking up from that dead-eyed state he sometimes settled into. (It would have been far less trouble to go this route from the beginning, Remus reflected of his pushy darling.)

Sirius sagged against him, wanton and trusting now that Remus was playing along as he wanted. "You're so sick," he murmured lovingly into the dark hair as he fisted a hand into it, and the other man nodded up at him, senseless or in complete agreement, it didn't matter which for it was true either way. "You've just manipulated me into this, haven't you? Slytherin-bred whore." He started to nod again, but Remus tugged roughly at his long hair until he slid inelegantly from the chair, onto his knees again in the space they had cleared in the middle of the kitchen.

"Remus," he said, clearly begging by his tone, though it was unclear precisely what he wanted, beyond sensation. Was that the third time tonight he'd said it so sweetly? The werewolf's heartstrings were always wrenched hard by the sound of his name, his real name, spoken in Sirius' bedroom voice--Moony was the playmate, Remus the brother. They only blurred together when Sirius pinned his heart to his sleeve.

He hit him again, a sharp backhand that caught the other man hard on the side of his skull, much harder than he'd intended. He thrilled at Sirius' low moan. "Say it again," he ordered, terse.

"Remus?"

He bit off a strange, involuntary sort of bark at the quavering question and, before he knew what he was doing, he lashed out with a swift sock-clad foot, kicked Sirius onto his back on the cold tiles. His shoulder would bruise there. 

He forced air back into his chest in a long gasp, shocked. He was twisting on the floor like the dog he was, needy and desperate. "Remus, _please_ \--"

"Shut it, Black," he snapped, "I'm having you." Remus leaned over him. "You've just proved you couldn't stop me if you wanted to." 

"You're right!" It was almost a sob--almost a relieved sob.

Remus hesitated, torn--he had startled himself with that near-criminal comment. Sirius adored his lupine nature, encouraged it even, and in his more sensible moments the werewolf knew how dangerous that could become. A part of him was trying desperately to resist, to step back and let his friend up, to take him to bed and love him properly--like a human.

But the larger part of him was staring hungry and wild-eyed down at the writhing dog, drawing his lips back in a snarl and fumbling the tweed away from himself with hands that seemed to work like paws. Merlin, at this rate Sirius would have him transforming without the moon soon enough, and he almost didn't care. He almost _wished_ he could, and he hated himself for it, distantly.

Sirius had his eyes squeezed shut and his hands drawn up to his chest, shirt and waistcoat still undone. He had never looked so submissive, not in any of their games--there was something unprecedentedly real here. Remus was moving already, straddling his thighs on the floor to trap him, grabbing him hard by one wrist. He started to shift into his fur, perhaps on instinct, though it wouldn't help him get what he wanted. 

He was a stupid mess.

"Don't you dare," Remus told him, sitting back hard to trap his knees against the tiles; Sirius was forced to reverse his transformation since he couldn't restring his joints like that. 

Remus knew his canine body as well as his human body. 

"As if that would stop me, anyway," he rumbled ominously as his friend became fully human again. He tugged at Sirius' flies, undid his belt and yanked the cloth down his thighs. He was stone-stiff and throbbing, probably had been all during the duel, and the silky sheath of his foreskin was drawn fully back. He had that little crease between his brows, that almost-inaudible whine in his breath that usually meant he was already exercising the considerable force of his will to hold himself back from the edge.

Remus flipped him roughly onto his front, and the cold floor shocked him. Sparks still flickered along the surfaces of things, glimmered against his flesh, raised hot by their duel. Sirius' breathing was heavy, and he pushed himself halfway up onto his knees to make it easier for Remus, automatically or wantonly, another distinction that didn't matter.

Remus summoned Sirius' own wand from the table, just to make the point that he could. He used _that_ spell, the one they never used together. He could have done it wandless, and most often they didn't use magic at all--Sirius hated it, found it too invasive to be stretched and slicked so forcibly. But Remus wanted him off-balance and shocked and uncomfortable for this, knew it would tip Sirius harder towards letting himself go entirely, towards the blissful unawareness of everything but his nerves.

The other man had stopped struggling and was making small, piteous canine noises, somehow emphatic in his yielding, as desperate to surrender as if his life depended on it. Merlin, Remus felt wretched. The tame part of him--the part of him that truly did love that sweet happy dog hidden under all the Black blood and sickness and horrible terrifying reactions to his trauma--that part of him overcame his lupine instinct for a moment, just at the verge of penetration. "Sirius, are you--"

"Do it," Sirius said, voice utterly shipwrecked. "You _beast_." It was cruel of him, and it was perfect.

Remus pulled back a little, steadied himself. He thought he might pass out for a heartbeat or two, but then his body seemed to move without him--a familiar enough feeling. It was quick thanks to the spell, and forceful, and Sirius cried out, happily and in pain, as Remus pressed himself fully into him. 

Remus moved automatically, out of all control. He feared he might be transforming after all, and he knew Sirius was mad enough and brave enough and in love enough to let him, to lie there submissive in his human skin on the cold kitchen tiles and take his knot and his teeth, even if it killed him--or worse, made him finally, fully a werewolf. (Why did he let himself have this with _anyone_ human? It was too dangerous in any form!) Oh, but he could see his own hands, still human-shaped and clutching Sirius' hips. He wasn't shifting, not physically. This was no further than Sirius had goaded him before, or not much further.

After many long, frightening minutes, he began to regain control of his body, and his movements became somewhat less frantic, less disjointed. Sirius, beneath him, was enjoying himself thoroughly, unashamed. He was content for the first time all night, yelping sweetly and slamming himself back against Remus with each deep thrust.

His fingers unclenched from Sirius' hips, slinked around to his prick. One hand circled the root of him with a too-tight grip, the other tugged sternly at his balls. This new, more vital grip on Sirius thrilled him; he moved faster again, rougher, ignoring the ache in his own knees. "Yeah, you sweet, stupid-- _fuck!_ \--oh, you're for me," Remus growled, hot, aware that he wasn't making much sense. He sucked in a deep breath, forced himself to pause long enough to create a proper human sentence in his mind. "I'll always have you any way I want you, won't I?"

Sirius moaned incoherently, sagging dead-weight in the vee Remus' arms made round his waist; everything hurt so beautifully. He was already balanced on the edge of the fall, his dark prick pulsing rhythmically in Remus' hands, aching in the tight grip that rendered him unable to spill. His arms sprawled useless at his sides and his hair made tendrils all around him, covered his face.

"Won't I?" Remus barked.

"Of course," Sirius whispered into the floor.

Remus tensed. His toes scrabbled against the tiles. "Merlin, I'm fucking losing it, Sirius," he hissed. Sirius pushed back against him, whining a broken plea, and Remus absently unclenched his hands from his lover's flesh. Instantly, they were both coming over the edge, silent and stiff and clutching at each other's arms as Remus locked Sirius in an unbreakable embrace which lost them both their balance and pitched them forward onto the floor together. They hadn't timed it so perfectly in years--maybe they never had.

It was its own sort of magic, and it burned between them for long heartbeats.

Some minutes later, in a tangle of undone robes and lean limbs sprawled sticky on the slick black tile, the two came back into themselves. Sirius was laughing shrilly, madly.

"Please stop," Remus whispered soft against his neck. "Stop if you can."

He didn't. Remus held him tight until he stilled. The laughter finally dissolved into panting breath. After a while, he might have been called relaxed.

"Are you alright?" Remus murmured.

Sirius nodded. "I'm just-- relieved." His voice cracked. Remus kept his arms locked tight around him, kept his weight heavy on the other man's back. He knew Sirius felt safest when Remus had him pressed down submissive after an orgasm; he had always been able to smell it on him in moments like this.

This was home. Not this wretched house that was torturing his love, not--as he had implied earlier--his prick in Sirius' mouth, not even that narrow school bed with its red velvet hangings where they had first become first-lovers, far too young.

No, it was this, for both of them: the afterglow of pushing Sirius until he broke apart into equal parts warm soft flesh and frightened child and hungry monster so that Remus could love and hate and devour all of those things, flawless in their match because Remus was all of those things himself.

(They were _too_ perfect a match, they were too alike. They always had been. They could only spiral each other fast into tailspins, and Remus often felt ill-equipped at the reins. He didn't _like_ to dominate for its own sake, in fact it often felt like a craving he was better off resisting, a sick wolf-thing, but controlling the monster that he was gave him the skills for it, and Sirius unquestionably needed it. He took the reins because Sirius couldn't, but to think that his own rapidly-waning control over himself was enough to keep them both on course--it frightened Remus. Often.) 

"Promise me something," Sirius murmured after a while, after the lazy fog of sex left their bones a little.

Remus shifted off of the other man to lie next to him.They both turned onto their backs and stared up at the dark beams of the low ceiling. "Of course," he said, probably foolishly. "Anything."

But Sirius didn't speak for a long time. Finally, in a soft and sorrowful voice, "I want you to be with her."

"What?" Remus turned to look at him, startled and suddenly heartpounding-sick again.

"When the war is over," Sirius clarified. "I... I won't need you any longer. And I want you to be happy--" He could tell Remus was about to voice his perpetual objection, and he cut across him. "The werewolf thing is nonsense, you know it is. You've never hurt me." Not too badly, anyhow, and never more than he had wanted.

"I already said I'll always choose you," Remus murmured into his wild-fucked hair.

"Maybe someone should choose for you." He shut his eyes. "Maybe you're better off without me."

"Don't say things like that," Remus said, and he set one long-fingered hand on Sirius' throat to remind him of the collar, of the promise Sirius had made--had broken and, years later, had renewed--to always trust Remus' judgement, to always submit to it. "I have no intention of leaving you."

Sirius sighed, maybe relieved, maybe not.

"This won't last forever," Remus told him then, his voice soft. "The Death-Eaters are amassing their forces. There shall be open war soon enough--" Sirius' lips curved into a grim smile, for whatever else he was, he was a fighter. "--and I imagine everyone will suddenly be far less interested in _your_ whereabouts once the fires begin again."

"I want to pair-duel with you again," Sirius said. Remus still had one hand locked gently around his throat. "We were always good together."

Remus smiled crookedly, nodding at him sideways all vague and amused. "Nymphadora is awful," he admitted with a soft chuckle. " _Her_ footwork is a total mess." And fair enough, with old crippled Moody as her cadet-master. "She's going to get herself killed if she doesn't improve--all that talent and no idea what to do with it." Merlin help him, she was Sirius--before he went so utterly mad! How could he help but love her?

The two wizard-werewolves turned towards one another where they lay on the kitchen floor, exchanged a look of regret. They drew closer to one another, instinct and long familiarity moving them in unison. "We were built for war, you and I," Sirius said. "The young ones--they've fallen into it."

"We get old, and they take our place." Remus shrugged crooked into his side. "It is how these things work, after all."

"No," Sirius said then with a wicked smile. "I intend to live forever," he lied bravely.

"You would," Remus laughed. After some minutes, he shambled to his feet, offered his hand to the other man.

Sirius heaved himself up, smiling sadly. They retrieved their wands and went to find a serviceable bedroom, leaving the kitchen a scorched and sparking wreck, broken glass and cigarette ends everywhere, blood and seed spattered upon the tiles, and the table still crooked and far out-of-place. They dropped into their ill-shared and dusty bed, spent and mostly-clothed, and slept like the dead.


End file.
